


iii: Let's Build Skyscrapers

by Mikkal



Series: Waiting for Time to Run Out [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual!Barry, Multi, OT3: Westhallen, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, non-con recovery, starts off with a bang!, tags will come as they do, unexpected powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkal/pseuds/Mikkal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry's recovering from the horror that is Steve Palmer, Eddie's suffering from strange nightmares, and Iris is trying to keep them all together. It all kind of falls apart when a new metahuman wrecks havoc on the streets and he's a strange one: he can affect and only affect other metahumans.</p>
<p>Is Barry in even more trouble this time around? Or is something else going on?</p>
<p>(both. It's both. <i>damn it</i>)</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p> ON SEMI- PERMANENT HIATUS</p>
  <p> Check out <i>Sleep Like Dead Men. Wake Like Dead Men.</i> or the series <i>Thunder, Lightning, and the Storm</i> for a Westhallen by Mikkal fix</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	iii: Let's Build Skyscrapers

**Author's Note:**

> here. have a _great_ first chapter. (sarcasm)

_“Happiness is not a house_

_where you can live._

_(but it is a house you can build.)”_

—a softer world: 1084

 

           

Eddie gets shot and some how his day manages to get worse even after that.

            His ribs _burn_ , broken and smarting, his side feels like it’s on fire from the rather deep graze, and his lungs are tight, a vice squeezing them close to the point where he swears he’s not even breathing anymore. Which, actually, is a good thing because there’s _something_ out there.

            He bites back a whimper of pain and closes his eyes. He has no idea where Joe is. Hell, he doesn’t even know where Barry is. That’s the most important thing. Barry had been here and now he’s _not._ There’s a sense of helplessness that’s been overwhelming the past month or so, but it’s increased tenfold in the last five minutes.

            Eddie takes as deep breath as he can and this time really does whimper. He grips his gun tight in both hands and braces himself to take a peak. When he opens his eyes, a blinding white gaze is staring back, wild and wide.

            He gasps and throws his hands up, open palmed. Blue flies from his fingertips and suddenly Barry’s screaming in pain. Barry’s on the ground, convulsing uncontrollably, his hands on his face, and _screaming._ Oh God, he’s in fucking pain and it’s all Eddie’s fault.

            “Barry!” He leaps to his feet, stumbling closer to his boyfriend, but Iris appears out of nowhere to block his way. “Iris! What—?”

            “You hurt him!” she growls. “You lied to us and you hurt him. What happen to no more secrets? Now you’ve hurt Barry!”

            “No, no.” He raises his hands again in defense and Iris flinches. Tears spring to his eyes, burning them. “I didn’t mean to. I swear. You know I love you both.”

            “Liar!”

_And then he wakes up_.

            Iris is curled around him, making him unbearably hot. Sweat drips down his face, getting into his ears and stinging his eyes. Tears run down his cheeks, adding to it. He groans. What the hell was that?

            He wipes his forehead, going up to his hair. He reaches out for Barry only to find him not in bed. The clock tells him it’s two in the morning and he definitely wouldn’t be awake wandering the apartment now so he must be in the other bedroom. He’d fallen asleep with the two of them in the master bedroom, but something must’ve chased him to the room they’d specifically set up for those moments he has where it too much—Iris suggested it, and Steve Palmer made it an necessity.

            Eddie carefully untangles himself from Iris’ embrace, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He’s shaky and clammy.

            “What the hell?” he mutters to himself, covering his face. “What the absolute _fuck_?”

            His throat’s dry, like he’s been screaming, and, and, he doesn’t—He just feels so wrong footed and _ugh_. Eddie heaves off the bed, stumbling a bit, then heads to the kitchen, creaking open the partially closed door. The light in the hallway is still on from when they went to bed actually pretty early that night.

            He sort of staggers into the kitchen, his legs still not working correctly, and stops abruptly when he sees Barry sitting at the island, a bottle of water almost empty in front of him and he’s snapping on one of Iris’ hair ties around his wrist.

            “Hey,” he says quietly.

            Barry looks up at him eyes rimmed red and face pale—the same washed out color it’s been since a month ago. “Hey,” he echoes. “You okay?”

            “I should be asking you the same thing.” Eddie grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it from the tap. “Couldn’t sleep?”

            He grunts. “Just thinking about the trial.” His voice wobbles a bit at the end. He starts snapping the hair tie again. Eddie sits across from him and touches his wrist lightly. He freezes, curling his fingers around the elastic and string. “Why are you up?”

            Eddie shrugs. “I had a really strange nightmare.”

            “Do you wanna talk about it?”

            He shakes his head. “Not right now. Let’s wait ‘til the morning.”

            Barry grins. “It’s morning.”

            “You know what I mean.”

            He laughs quietly, taking another sip of his water. He puts out his hand, palm up, and Eddie hooks their fingers together. This inside of his wrist is red and the skin is raised, swollen—which is better than bleeding, but no less worse.

            Eddie shifts his hand so he can thumb the raw skin gently. Barry’s breathing hitches and he covers Eddie’s hand with his free one, squeezing a little tighter than intended probably.

            “Do you want to talk about _your_ nightmare?” Eddie asks.

            Barry shakes his head. “It’s the same stuff as usual. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

            “How long have you been awake?” Talking about Barry’s problems makes his nightmare fade to the back of his mind—the only thing that stands out now is the blue, but that’s not an issue.

            “Eleven,” he mumbles, fidgeting like he wants to start snapping again. They gave him that as a better outlet than digging his nails into his arms or thighs like he has been doing when it gets too much. Hopefully they’ll get him off that too, maybe ice? “I tried to sleep after than, in the other room, but it didn’t work. It was too cold in there.”

            The island is small enough that he can easily reach over and cup Barry’s cheek, brushing his thumb along his jaw. Barry leans into the touch, closing his eyes slightly. A thrill rises in his chest when that happens, it’s small, but not even two weeks ago this was impossible. There had been nothing but flinches, but now…

            “Are you going to stay up? Or are you going to go to your bedroom?” It’s easier calling it Barry’s bedroom than a spare bedroom, no one but Barry is going to ever sleep there and that makes everyone feel better. Their new apartment has extra security features that make it cost more, but split between three makes it manageable.

            Barry, surprisingly enough, shakes his head. “I was—.” He swallows and opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s gaze. “I was hoping to give our bed a try?”

            Eddie gives him a wide smile, his heart giving a little happy dance inside his chest. Another positive step. He fell asleep in the master bed, had a nightmare, and now he wants to go back. This has never happened before.

            “ _Of course_.”

            Barry takes his hand when it’s offered and Eddie leads him to their bedroom, taking mind that his boyfriend could pull away at any moment. It’s not like he doesn’t have any right to want to. He creaks open the door again and chuckles at the sight of Iris sprawled out, taking up as much of the bed as possible.

            “We’ll have to do some maneuvering.”

            He peers over his shoulder, chuckling. “Why am I not surprised?”

            “She’s almost as bad as you,” Eddie whispers. Barry pinches him lightly in response.

            Eddie rolls his eyes before crawling on the bed, crawling over her slightly to hover over her, his face near her ear. “Hey, sweetie,” he murmurs. She makes a small noise in protest and stubbornly stays asleep. He exchanges amused looks with Barry—not forgetting to note that he’s twisting his fingers. “Iris, I need you to wake up. You’re making it hard for three people to fit on this bed.”

            “Am not,” she says, voice thick and eyes not even open.

            “Are too,” he replies. “Which is saying something considering this is a big bed.” He ducks even closer, lowering his voice. “Barry’s taking a step forward. He’s coming back to bed.”

            _That_ wakes her up. Her eyes blink wide and she gives him a look of semi-disbelief. “Really?” she whispers.

            He nods. “Take a look if you don’t believe me, but you’re still going to have to scoot over.”

            Iris rolls her eyes and moves over, shifting onto her back so she can get a good look at Barry. Eddie crawls back out of bed to take Barry’s hand and tug him gently toward the bed. He’s stiff for a brief second before he shuffles over with him.

            Iris leans up to take his elbow, encouraging him to the middle. Eddie curls up around him, letting him use his arm as a pillow and wrapping a leg around his knee, giving him a little bit of space and enough leeway to breakaway easily. Iris shuffles down to rest her head on the crook of his shoulder, throwing her arm over his chest.

            “This okay?” she asks.

            He’s quiet for a long moment before he nods. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

[…]

            “So, what’s it that you wanted to talk about?” Barry asks the next morning, leaning over his coffee. His face a little bit more color to it and Eddie chalks that up to actually getting a good night’s sleep. They all ended up waking up around three in the afternoon, thank God they were all off—both him and Barry are on call, despite the fact Singh wanted Barry to take more days off.

            “Wait, what?” Iris turns away from the sink, turning off the water.

            Eddie grimaces, running a hand through his hair and reaching down to adjust his belt before he remembers he’s wearing sweatpants. “Remember that thing that happened when we found that last letter?” he asks Iris. Barry’s winces and starts fiddling with his hair tie. Iris rests a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades.

            “Yeah,” she says. “What about it?”

            “Remember the vase and how I told you I’ll tell you when this is all over?” At her nod he adds, “Well, it’s over enough.”

           Both his boyfriend and girlfriend freeze. Barry doesn’t quite know the significance, but Iris does. She pulls over the stool and sits down, never moving too far from Barry’s side.

            Eddie sits down, cradling his head in his hands. “Okay, here’s the story: when I found the last letter, before Iris came home, I may have gotten angry enough to knock the vase my mom got us from it’s high shelf. How? All I know is there was a flash of blue light when I slammed the fridge door close and the vase it shattering on the shelf and falling to the ground.” He looks up, Barry’s eyes are wide and Iris’ mouth is hanging open.

            “Metahuman?” Barry guesses first. “You could’ve been affected by the accelerator.”

            “Wouldn’t I know that?” he asks. “I’d remember being hit by a wave of energy.”

            It’s Iris that shakes her head. “Not necessarily. Shawna doesn’t remember getting hit with energy.” She presses her lips together. “And Cisco’s been visiting Hartley and apparently he’s been developing sonic powers. Powers can manifest slowly it looks like.”

            Dread fills his chest and he feels a little sick. “I could be a metahuman?”

            Barry reaches out for him, resting a hand on his arm. “We’ll go to STAR,” he assures. “Caitlin’s been researching the metahuman thing so we know a little more about it, trying to figure out what decides the powers. She’s mostly basing it on Cisco’s comic book knowledge since it’s unprecedented, but there’s been good results so far.”

            Eddie nods. “Okay, okay. I can do that.” He takes a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m freaking out.”

            “It’s not every day someone finds out they might be a metahuman,” Iris says. “You’re allowed to freak out.”

            He nods again. He opens his mouth to add that it’s not because he might be metahuman that’s freaking him out, but that he might _hurt them_ like he did in his dream, but both his and Barry’s phones go off at the same time. Barry groans.

            Eddie answers and Singh doesn’t even bother greeting him, just rattles off an address and lets him know it’s a possible suicide-homicide. That means Joe’s calling Barry.

            “How is it,” Iris says when they’ve both hung up, “that most of our semi-important conversations are interrupted by phone calls?”

            Eddie laughs lightly. “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?” He kisses her on the cheek before rushing to the bedroom. He finds Barry already in there, half dresses. He laughs again at the sight of him struggling with his long sleeved shirt. “Need help?”

            “Ple—uh, sure. Thank you.”

            He doesn’t say anything about the slip. Barry hasn’t said please in a little bit less than a month, and they haven’t asked why and he hasn’t said why. It’ll come.

            He helps Barry untangle the shirt, un-bunching it from the back so he can slide it on earlier. It leaves his hair ruffled and his cheeks flushed a little pink. Eddie doesn’t resist the urge to kiss him, but he makes sure to touch his jaw carefully in warning before kissing him chastely.

            It’s Barry that cups the back of his neck and pulls him in deeper, opening his mouth for Eddie to explore deeper. Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, Barry’s never deliberately made a kiss deeper before. When the taller man presses even closer, lining up their bodies and his other hand snaking to rest at the small of Eddie’s back, is when Eddie pulls away slightly, his eyebrows still furrowed.

            “Barry, wha—?”

            He shakes his head, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Nothing.” He runs a shaking hand through his hair, smoothing it out a bit. “Nothing. I’ll see you at the crime scene.”

            And then he’s gone.

            Eddie blinks in surprise, worry making his stomach feel like lead. He can’t…what was that? That’s ten times weirder than the nightmare, ten times freakier too. That’s so unlike Barry before Steve Palmer and it’s so unlike him after Steve Palmer.

            “Eddie?” Iris calls, walking in. “You’re going to be late.”

            He shakes himself out of his stupor. “Yeah.” He grabs his causal work close, not really feeling a full suit and it’s not expected either. “Just…” and then he explains what just happened, adding in his confusion.

            Iris’ expression mirrors his. “That’s…weird. And disturbing.”

            “I know, right?”

            He brushes his teeth fast and tugs on his shoes. “Unfortunately, like all things, it’ll have to wait until later.” He kisses her again. “I love you.”

            “Love you, too.”

            Then he’s gone too. Since he’s not the fastest man alive it takes him forty-five minutes to get the to crime scene where Joe, Barry, and a few uniformed officers milling around. Barry’s fare away from the officers, crouched down near one of the covered bodies.

            “What’d I miss?” he asks Joe, pulling out his notebook.

            Joe shakes his head, his face looking a little green. “Singh already told you, but it’s a little bloodier than the details he gave.” He points to the body Barry’s at now, the hand sticking out slender and nails decorated. “Mila Johnson shot her boyfriend, Jack Manson, in the back three times before slitting his throat from behind. She then scratched her own eyes out and bled to death before anyone could called a paramedic.”

            “No one heard the gunshots?”

            “Nope. There are absolutely no witnesses to the actual crime.” Joe gestures to the area around them. “At the estimated time of death this place is pretty empty. It was college kids skipping a class to head to Taco Bell that heard Mila calling for help. They said she seemed confused and scared.”

            They make their way over to Barry who’s capping up the last of the trace evidence swipes. His hands are shaking and he looks just as pale as he did last night. Eddie wants to believe it’s from the dead bodies, but Barry’s seen worse than this.

            “What’s the verdict?” he asks.

            “There’s gun powder residue on Mila’s hands, she used both of them to hold the gun. One of her nails broke off while shooting.” He points to evidence marker five. “Picked it up over there. The only problem I have is that she couldn’t have had enough force to cut into his throat so deeply without the proper knife. I found that there,” evidence marker six, “but it’s not a knife a normal woman carries in her purse. And her strength is another question. Even with three shots to the back, he’s still conscious enough to fight back, there’s no defensive bruises on her.”

            “Could this be a metahuman case?” Joe asks quietly.

            Barry shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll have to get a little more information. Coroner, background checks, a few more details for the witness statements, and I have to go through all of the evidence. It could be a normal case, it could be metahuman.”

            Eddie draws back the sheet over Mila and forces back a gag at the sight of her mutilated face. If it wasn’t a metahuman then this woman is one sick puppy. If it is a metahuman: how did they do it and why?

           


End file.
